


If Magic Existed

by likehandlingroses



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Gen, and a little social activist, and with a life outside of The Boys, hermione as a kid
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-28
Updated: 2019-09-28
Packaged: 2020-10-30 04:01:34
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 932
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20808185
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/likehandlingroses/pseuds/likehandlingroses
Summary: Seven-year old Hermione’s worked tirelessly to earn the money to buy a hard-bound book of fairytales...but is there a way to use that money to make some magic of her own?





	If Magic Existed

Hermione skipped across the pavement, clutching her mother’s hand tight. Her other hand closed around the money in her pocket: money she’d spent weeks earning. **  
**

She was going to buy that massive bound book with the golden lettering and the fairies etched into the cover, each of them so lithe and delicate that Hermione fancied they might fly off of the leather at any moment. 

“I didn’t know you liked fairytales so much,” Mummy remarked the first time Hermione had insisted that she’d have the book, no matter how many extra loads of laundry she had to fold.

“I don’t!” Hermione’s nose wrinkled thinking of the saturated, silly picture books they read in school about Cinderella and Snow White…and the films were even worse. How anyone could expect her to believe a fairy godmother would be a silly, vacant old lady who thought magicking up Cinderella some shoes was more important than stopping her family from bullying her…

If magic existed, it wouldn’t be anything like that. 

If magic existed, it could change the entire world. 

Hermione could sense that the book with the golden fairies would show her that place…that world where magic existed and it meant something.

She didn’t think Mummy understood at all, though she played along nicely, sticking a “fairytale funds” tracker on the refrigerator as Hermione filled her piggy bank and crossed her fingers that no one else would snatch it up before her. 

The October wind tore through Hermione’s jacket, but she didn’t mind it. The book was as good as hers. Mummy had called ahead, and the shop had put the book aside, and all she had to do now was hand the money over and say, “thank you very much.”

On the corner beside the book store, Hermione noticed a booth, mostly populated by people in purple shirts. 

“Who’s that?” she asked, pointing at them before dropping her hand quickly. Ms. Reynolds said pointing was rude, though Mummy said that was only sometimes true (about half of the time, to be precise). 

“Let’s see, shall we?” Mummy grinned at her before heading off in the direction of the purple people. Hermione hoped it wasn’t jewelry again…Mummy could get quite out of hand with jewelry…

To her relief, it wasn’t jewelry. In fact, the booth wasn’t selling anything. Even the lolly they handed Hermione was free. They pressed pamphlets into Mummy’s hands as Hermione scanned the table, eyeing pictures of smiling children clutching stuffed animals and playing with toy trains.

“–and come the end of the month, we have our fall fundraising feast, so you can purchase your ticket here…”

“Fundraising for what?” Hermione asked, looking up at the tall man in the purple shirt who was talking to Mummy. 

“These nice people do work with disadvantaged children,” Mummy explained. “You know what that means?”

Hermione opened her mouth to confirm that of course she knew what it meant…but then shut it as the meaning hit her somewhere rather deeper than the part of her brain that held images of flashcards. 

She meant children like Cinderella.

Hermione pulled her money out of her pocket and set it on the table, where the tall man scrambled to grab it before it blew away. 

“I’ll have a ticket, thank you very much.”

Mummy smiled. “Oh, sweetheart…you’re lovely for thinking to help, but the event is for grown-ups…”

“Why does my money have to be grown up to help?” Hermione said, fixing her mother with a fierce stare. 

The man in the purple shirt laughed. “She’s a little activist, isn’t she?”

“She’s my lion-heart girl…” Mummy said, tucking Hermione’s windswept hair behind her ear. She crouched down to eye-level, taking her hand. “How’s this? I’ll give them some money for the fund, and then we can get your book.”

“I don’t want the book,” Hermione said sharply. The purple-shirted man half-heartedly waved the money at Mummy, who faltered in her attempts to take it.

“Love, that’s a lot of money you saved…and you wanted that book so badly.” She squeezed Hermione’s hand. “What if I take one of these pamphlets, and then you and Daddy and I can all save up for a little while, and make a donation together?”

Hermione brightened. “We can do that _too_, Mummy!”

“Okay…if you’re sure?” Mummy grinned at Hermione’s eager nod, and she kissed her cheek before standing up again. 

“Can we do a donation here?” she asked. 

“Absolutely,” the man said, counting Hermione’s money before placing it in a lock box. He then began jotting something down on a piece of paper. “From the lion-heart girl…what’s your name?”

“Hermione Jean Granger,” Hermione said, standing on her toes watching the man write. “That’s with an ‘i’, actually. H-E-R-M-I-O-N-E.”

“There, now we’ve got it… and may I ask the lady how old she is?”

“Seven,” Hermione said proudly. “Just turned.” 

“You may be our youngest donor yet!” the man said with a smile. And that was almost nicer than having the book. 

Indeed, Hermione had half-forgotten about the book when she found it under the Christmas tree, with a note from Father Christmas. 

_Hermione– _

_After all the work you’d done to earn this book–and after how kind you were to give all that money away to someone who needed it more–I knew it belonged with you._

_Fairytales are all about imagining the world as it might be. And your imagination is rather strong for a seven year-old. _

_Of all the things to be proud of, you should be proudest of that. _

_–Father Christmas_


End file.
